I feel it in my bones (enough to make my system blow)
by ibuzoo
Summary: She wakes with a bloodcurdling scream, sits in her bed, eyes opened wide when Ron bolts into her room, alone this time, eyes still drowsy and she assures him, promises to look her symptoms up tomorrow, almost urges him out of the room, curls up in her bed, trembles, shivers, waits.


**I feel it in my bones (enough to make my system blow)**

**Prompt: **Poison

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Canon Divergence / almost drowning / mindfuck trough dreams

**Word count: **1730

**Summary: **She wakes with a bloodcurdling scream, sits in her bed, eyes opened wide when Ron bolts into her room, alone this time, eyes still drowsy and she assures him, promises to look her symptoms up tomorrow, almost urges him out of the room, curls up in her bed, trembles, shivers, waits.

_(her feet are covered under the blanket and no one sees her mud-smeared heels nor the crumbled blood between her toes)_

**A/N: **I tried to find a parseltongue translator that'd translate Hermione in written parseltongue but I failed - so if someone knows any translator or can give me the translated version I'll update the story of course.

**Disclaimer:**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**o.**

She dreams and it starts.

_(the centre cannot hold it)_

**i.**

They're living in 12 Grimmauld Place, a gloomy old house and she wakes in the middle of the night, moon high in the dark blue sky, her skin bathed in sweat that cools down in the chill night air, a breeze brushing her skin trough the open window and she feels her flesh stitching from the cold, feels icy fingertips on her feverish front when she pushes her hair back, tries to bring the mess in some kind of order.

She doesn't usually remember her dreams.

She can remember some of them which are still lingering in her mind, glimpses or even memories of her childhood, nightmares when she used to wake in a cruel state, crying and screaming for help - but there was that one dream that had been the exception to the rule, the one with a blooming meadow and butterflies that danced around her head, the lapping of a near river in the background, warm sunshines and colours in summer.

With time that passed the dreams had gone too and all she remembered when morning came, was darkness and complete and utter repose.

This time was different, this time she felt the dream clawing at her mind, trying to swallow her, gripping her back into his paws and claws to sink her in the sea of sleep again, a cruel hiss in the back of her mind.

She rises from the bed and leaves the room.

**ii.**

The first few days are blurry around the edges, almost smudged and she wakes again and again with a nagging conscious that something's not right, that something will happen. It's utterly reassuring for her mind when the dream finally manifests itself and she doesn't need to waste another thought about her mental state or soporifics again.

The terror kicks in as soon as she realises that she's trapped, a dark black room without any windows, with no door, four walls that feel claustrophobic in time. Her hands start to search for an exit and she can feel her pulse increasing, her mind racing while her fingers scratch over hard concrete, over cold stone. She hears it before she feels it, the panting sound of a breathing human being, a hiss that sounds like a snake, smells a scent that's entirely unfamiliar, musky and fresh at once, lemongrass and something more copper, and Hermione feels goosebumps on her skin, feels them creep their way over her back up to her nape. She tries to lunge out with her hands, with her legs but her feet won't make contact with anything besides the walls - and did the room just went smaller? Frantically her fingernails scratch over the surface, scraping, clawing, grating until they sting painfully, fists hammering and she wakes up, screaming loud and clear, her voice echoing from the walls.

Harry and Ron enter her room a second later, falling over themselves with wands drawn, ready for a fight but leave a moment later after all of them realised that it had been a dream from the start.

_(her fingers are buried in her blanket but she can't see the dirt under her nails, neither does she see the blood)_

**iii.**

The next dream follows a day after, the same room, the same scent but this time her head rests on the cold floor, her eyes see the thin layer of silver light shining under one of the walls and she starts to search, nearly rips the room apart until she finally finds the door handle, small and innocent, pushes it down and falls out on a bright floor.

Her hand flies over her eyes on automatic to shield her from the bright white light that threatens to blind her, and she braces herself, rises to her knees and starts to run. The hallway is long, wider and wider and with each step she goes it seems the end is further away - or perhaps there's no end at all? There are steps coming for her, the resonance of footfalls louder and louder, the panting breath coming closer, the hissing becoming louder and it's almost as if she can feel hot puffs on her nape, on her ears, her skin and it drives her mad, drives her wild because the scent is overwhelming, warm and honey and parchment and lemongrass - _home_. Her head starts to spin and her steps start to get ataxic but there's the end, there's another door, pitch black against the blinding bright of the aisle and she runs and stumbles and falls and there's a body on her, a weight that drags her down, slows her, _wait, wait _- she wakes up screaming again.

Harry and Ron burst into the room and this time she needs a lot more persuasiveness to push them out of her door once more, to tell them everything is alright, _yes, it was just a dream, good night._

She closes the door and leans her burning front against the cool wood, closes her eyes and breathes.

_(the scent still lingers in her nose, rigid and reminding)_

**iv.**

_She sees the wall of her bedroom, sees the clock on the wall ticking closer to the next hour, ticking, ticking._

_She closes her eyes -_

She's running.

She can't remember why, what from or what to, but she's running and she isn't alone. The white room lies behind her and sends a blinding light trough the dark forest that towers stoically, trees on trees, an army of sylvan soldiers and she tries to outsmart them, runs circles and drifts trough fallen leaves, jumps over roots, dives into mud and she's running and running, never stops for a thought of reason.

There' someone behind her, someone before her and she can't really differentiate between these two choices because he's everywhere, the shadow, the boy, the man, it changes, he changes, and his voice grows louder, speaks to her, really hisses to her in a language she can't understand while her heart beats with the rapidness of a machine gun, every shot a strike. It's warm, it's sticky and her legs get heavy but she won't give up, the bright light swallowed long ago and all that extends are dark woods and even darker thoughts of her mind.

_sssaehssal-sssaehssal-sssaehssal-sssaehssal- _

-she blinks, shakes her head, feels every breath retreating out of her lungs and it gets colder and colder, the iciness meanwhile paralysing her thighs, her nose is running, her eyes are watering and she listens, hears his voice -

_hermione-hermione-hermione-hermione-_

She wakes with a bloodcurdling scream, sits in her bed, eyes opened wide when Ron bolts into her room, alone this time, eyes still drowsy and she assures him, promises to look her symptoms up tomorrow, almost urges him out of the room, curls up in her bed, trembles, shivers, waits.

_(her feet are covered under the blanket and no one sees her mud-smeared heels nor the crumbled blood between her toes)_

**v.**

She can't find a solution in her books and so she decides to not sleep at all, but human needs proof her wrong - or perhaps there's some kind of magic in this because her eyes grow tired and she retreats to her bed even tho she swore herself to stay awake just an hour ago.

She can't remember falling asleep but sure enough she wakes up in the woods again, near a river this time that looks almost too calm, almost too serene. She takes some precarious steps closer to the shore and watches how the silver moon reflects brightly on the surface, illuminates the pebbles and the fishes within the water, donates light in the dark.

Her heart is pounding, still haunted, still a nagging feeling on her mind but the scent of old books and lemongrass is overwhelming, draws her right and, anchors her to the shore where the boy is waiting on the other side, towering almost out of the dark and she can see his features for the first time, sharp and beautiful, almost pulchritudinous and he calls out for her, whispers her name, the foreign language echoing over the sea and she follows, understands him, takes step for step trough the frosty water that leaves biting itches on her calves. The water gets deeper, reaches to her knees, to her thighs, to her hip and walking gets harder, slower, while her body trembles from the cold, her skin as marble blue as the night colour that reflects but she can't tear her eyes away, cements them on the man that's on the other side and breathing gets harder, the water already washing around her chest, clutching at her lungs with a biting deadness.

_sssaehssal-sssaehssal-sssaehssal-sssaehssal-_

-the moment when the water hits her lips in the blue abyss burdens her lungs, drags her deeper, she gulps and swallows, feels the pain spreading from the inside, thousand needles in her body, eyes wide open and there's a pale glimmer, or is it the moon, is it the moon -

_hermione-hermione-hermione-hermione-_

She wakes with a desperate cry but her voice fails her, no sound escapes her throat but instead she coughs water, wets the sheets.

It's still early but no one comes in her room that night.

No one hears.

_(she shivers from wet clothes that cling to her body and chill her to the bones and even the boiling water of the shower can't warm her up again)_

**vi.**

She doesn't sleep again that night.

**vii.**

She's frightened to sleep again but when she finally drifts asleep, no poison is set on her mind that time. It's a restless night and she suppresses the urge to snarl, to fight and kick out like a wounded child because she isn't one, not anymore but when she wakes, there's no reminder of the night on her mind, all that remains is the utter feeling of exhaustion.

There's a scent in her room, parchment and lemongrass, that makes her sit up, heart beating faster when she sees him, sitting on a nearby chair, legs crossed and face terrible young, a boy, a man, a smirk, grey eyes, perfect face and his voice is honey for her heart, poison in her mind, „Hello Hermione."

**viii.**

She dreams and things fall apart.

_(the centre cannot hold)_


End file.
